i am all the days that you choose to ignore
by Dorminchu
Summary: Angela pushes Elliot too far; Mr. Robot intervenes. [3x01]


a/n: Just something I came up with for fun! It's not exactly fun, though. :(

Title from the song _All I Need_ by Radiohead, though I listened to a bit more Akira Yamaoka during the actual writing process.

* * *

Open my eyes.

Laying on a couch that isn't mine.

The lights are dim.

I can barely see my hand in front of my face.

Still in Angela's apartment.

The Iast few days I've been sleeping more often than I would like to.

Probably just exhausted.

Stressed out.

Angela lets me sleep, for what it's worth.

It's the closest I've come to being alone in a while.

She's only ever around to wake me up in the mornings, and she checks on me when she comes home.

Reminds me too much of prison.

Angela doesn't want to talk most of the time.

But I can tell she worries about me, and our recent disconnection.

Despite this, she knows me better than most. I wouldn't have made her promise to keep an eye on me otherwise.

Darlene couldn't understand.

She never stuck around to try.

That's not fair.

I was a shitty brother. I still am.

Darlene's been doing the best she can under the circumstances.

Doesn't mean I liked dealing with her _best_. The outbursts could get a little tiring.

She was always trying to push beyond my boundaries, asking for answers I couldn't provide.

I'm glad she isn't here but I don't exactly feel safe without her.

Thoughts drift back to Angela.

I remember the sound of her voice when I was under.

She was quiet. I must have been resting. She told me a story about her mother that I only half remember.

She missed her a lot.

Then she said there was a way to see her mother again, and we would talk when I was feeling better.

That could have been a dream for how much sense it made.

She mentioned something like that a few nights ago, though. So it must have been partly true.

This isn't a good sign. If I try to ask her more she'll shut me out for good.

I remember Tyrell begging my forgiveness.

His hands on my stomach trying to probe out the bullet.

I think that was what knocked me out.

He was clumsy. I think he might have been crying.

I won't lie and say I'd love to see Tyrell again. I mean, fuck. He shot me in the stomach when I wouldn't obey him. He's always been something of a liability.

That's in the past. There's a lot of information we need to discuss about the plan; I didn't agree to it, and if I'm being honest, I guess I'd rather deal with him than Angela right now. But this whole gunshot-to-the-stomach-situation has really sapped my patience.

Shit. I sound like him.

I haven't seen him since we got shot.

No, I got shot.

He didn't take that bullet for me.

He's probably freezing me out of spite at this rate.

It's nice.

A little scary.

Reminds of the shit he used to pull when we were in prison.

But I don't think he's coming back completely without Tyrell.

This entire outcome was a result of my own miscalculation.

Okay, so. I know I just talked a lot of shit about them, Tyrell and Darlene and Angela.

Truth is, I'm just sick of worrying.

I hope Darlene's all right, where ever she is.

I'm not ready to deal with Tyrell beyond hypotheticals.

Definitely not talking to HIM unless he explains what happened that night between us, Tyrell and fsociety.

I don't expect much.

We've all done some pretty fucked up things to each other lately, and I don't know where to draw the line anymore.

"Elliot?"

Soft yellow light floods half the room.

Shit.

I wasn't saying this out loud, was I?

Should I pretend to be asleep?

Her bare feet come into view. She's in her nightgown, holding a candle.

Guess I have no choice.

Hey, I say. What is it?

"I can't sleep." She looks guilty. "Hope I didn't wake you."

Nah.

Try to grin.

Angela sighs.

"I was gonna make tea. You want some?"

Sure, I lie.

I'd rather be working than lying here. No point being rude, or overextending myself. Angela's gone through a lot today, the same as me.

"Okay."

She seemed different when I woke up. In-control. New clothes, new haircut.

The same confliction behind her eyes. Her own special brand of fragility she was unable to stamp out completely.

I was different, too.

Tired.

Couldn't get up too quickly. Couldn't do anything without the expectation of pain crippling me.

I don't want to be at the mercy of anyone's whim, including Angela's.

I watch her in my peripherals. Count sixty seconds between the time she leaves me and fills a pot of water.

Two-hundred and two until I see her rifling through cabinets. She opens and closes a small metallic container, pouring water into a mug.

I don't know a lot about tea.

Is it ready? I ask.

"It has to steep first. I can bring it over to you."

Sit up gingerly.

She sets a mug down in front of me. "Sorry. I can't warm it up."

Shrug.

That's okay, I say.

I look at her.

She has a mug idling over on the counter.

She's lingering here.

Aren't you gonna drink yours?

She seems to recall. "Oh, right."

She's always been a little proud.

A lack of options gets in the way of her control over the situation. The brownout leaves her compromised like anyone else.

The tea is lukewarm.

Slightly bitter.

Not so different from coffee.

I don't realize how desperate I am for sustinence until I'm tasting the ceramic surface of the mug.

Angela hasn't touched hers yet.

Set my cup back on its coaster, feeling selfish.

A little nauseous. Haven't eaten much, I guess.

Thanks, I say.

Angela looks up.

"You drank it?"

Yeah.

"Oh, my God, really?"

She sounds flustered, but grateful.

Lay back. Try to relax.

Thirty seconds of silence, approximately.

At forty-five, I can hear her approaching.

Open my eyes.

"Is it cool if I hang out?" Her voice is small. She's holdling the candle in one hand and her tea in the other. "I really can't sleep."

Shrug.

Okay.

She sets the candle on the corner of the table furthest away from me and her tea next to mine.

Shift my weight so she can have room to sit.

Her head lolls onto my shoulder. The warmth against my side becomes a small, pedestrian comfort.

She smells like the candles she carries around; store-bought, inauthentic. I don't mind as much if it's associated with her.

Reminds me of the days before when she would come over to my apartment. We'd get high and watch _Back to the Future II_.

I think we tried to watch _The Careful Massacre of the Bougouise _but she wasn't into it so much. Darlene thought that was funny.

Her hand shifts around and finds mine.

I squeeze cautiously.

She squeezes back.

We're too close for comfort. But I don't push her away, I let her rest.

She breathes against the dip between my shoulder and neck.

I can feel her lips move.

Don't know what she's saying.

Suddenly tense.

Angela, I say.

She stops. Pulls away.

Look at her looking back at me.

Consider my words, then say:

Do you miss it?

Her brow pinches. "What do you mean?"

Hanging out together. We used to do that a lot.

Her mouth opens and closes. "I guess so." She smiles awkwardly. "It feels weirder now."

Mm?

"Hanging out." She eyes my mug. "You know what I mean?"

I don't answer.

Feels like a Catch-22.

"You're thinking about something else again, aren't you?" She sighs and sits up, facing me. "I'm right _here_."

No, I know what you mean. It's just, uh. Hard to put into words.

Angela scoffs, shakes her head. "You've been watching me ever since I came over here."

Shit. Am I that transparent?

Say nothing and wait.

"I'm not blind, Elliot."

She doesn't feel the same.

I _know_ this.

Is she acting out of pity? Misplaced guilt?

Is she just bored?

Or am I a shittier friend than I realized?

Angela takes a breath and exhales.

"It's late. I should try to get some sleep."

I'm ready to let her go.

I know I'm being manipulated. I despise this aspect of our friendship.

It's stupid to get my hopes up.

Even in the best circumstances, I'm a last resort.

But I think I can handle that much. As long as she's safe.

The better part of me just wants to be happy, for once. Even if it isn't a permanent fix.

I grab her wrist because I know it's what she is waiting for. Avert my eyes and concentrate on her left shoulder.

I won't pretend this isn't something I've thought about.

Dreamt, too often.

These are the kind of things I can't admit to anyone besides my own reflection.

Now she's on top of me.

We stare at each other.

I can feel the couch under me.

Her bare thighs against my jeans.

Haven't done this sober in a long time; that was by design.

"Elliot."

She isn't hesitating for her sake.

"Hey."

She takes me by the chin.

Tense up.

Look into her big blue eyes.

"It's only us right now," she reassures me. "Are you okay?"

Bite my tongue.

She watches me do this.

My eyes fall to her mouth.

Easier to focus on that.

Yeah, I say.

Sit up slow.

She takes my face in her hands.

Close the distance.

It's chaste at first.

Then she pushes me further.

Her tongue against my teeth.

I can't stop trembling.

My hands on her head, in her hair.

She grabs me by my lapels.

Pulls back, because I'm not doing much else.

Wipes her mouth.

Serene.

She kisses me this time.

My tongue slashes against her teeth. She accepts, sucks on it.

Hear myself groan.

She shivers.

Despite our differences, our growth, we are still especially fragile.

She knows my frailities.

I know hers.

She wraps her legs around my waist. Kissing down my neck.

She isn't wearing much. She's warm.

Shit.

I don't know what she needs, or how to give it to her.

Hips jerk aimlessly.

It makes her gasp and push back onto me.

Her hands curl on my chest.

My stomach in knots.

"Elliot?"

Realize I'm breathing hard.

Head's spinning. Overheating.

Everything is too solid.

Saying I'm not used to sobriety would be an understatement.

Asking her to get high now would make me look like a piece of shit. I don't know if I can trust anyone the same way as myself.

But she's in my lap, and it feels good.

It feels really fucking good.

Kiss her neck, just to get used to the feeling. Cumbersome in my own skin. Everything's too sluggish. The wound in my stomach keeps me grounded.

She sidles back before I can go further, straddling my thigh. She's flushed, wide-eyed. I messed up her hair.

Her hands shift, working on my belt.

Inhale hitches. I don't remember the last time I bought condoms.

She reaches in to get a better grip. Groan through my teeth, sucking in air, helpless in her grasp. My hands clench on nothing. Heart slams itself against my ribcage.

Angela glances at me without completely stopping, just slows down. She's hot against my leg.

My head lolls back. I look her right between the eyes and say,

Y'know, when I said you'd do best to keep Elliot under control, this isn't really what I had in mind.

Angela pulls back sharply, scrutinizing me. "Shit."

He's had a long enough haul without you keeping him up all night. It's already difficult enough babysitting one of you.

Her eyes harden. "This wasn't part of the deal."

And what _was_ your plan, sweetheart? To get his dick wet? Or did you want to talk to me? Because you could just ask next time; not that I'm complaining.

Angela says nothing, her mouth a thin line.

He's standing behind me now, but she's looking at me. "Is he still here?"

We can't afford to be getting distracted, he says. There's too much work to be done. You should know that most of all.

He's right, I say. People are counting on us.

Angela doesn't reply. Just slips away before I can diffuse the tension.

He's still around. Walks over to the table, eyeing her forgotten mug thoughtfully.

I want to ask what the fuck he's doing here but I can't believe he is.

"She's not your highschool buddy anymore, kiddo. You'd be wise to treat her accordingly."

I don't grace him with a response. He looks up.

"Look, I said you needed to get laid. I didn't mean right now. That's the sorta thing you need to parse out later."

Fuck off. You haven't said _shit _to me in days, and then you come back just to pull this over me?

He sighs through his nose. "I'm just doing my job. Blondie over there—"

Angela, I say tersely.

"—well, _she_ knows when to cut her losses. What's your excuse?"

I don't know how to answer, because he's got a point. At least he's talking to me again.

You aren't gonna tell me what's going on, are you, I say. So I might as well sleep.

He doesn't respond. He looks as tired as I feel.

Look over at the window. Blinds are drawn. I know the streets are empty. The sky is almost pitch-black outside. All you can see are the stars, if it's clear enough.

But that's all in my head, approximately.

Turn over on the couch and close my eyes.


End file.
